So I'm sitting there at work, and I feel this…this…
Heavenly days in the morning! That isn't a WHISKER, is it?
I stampeded to the giant Wicked Queen mirror in my office. (Seriously, you should see that gargantuan thing.) Sure enough, I had this GROWTH coming out of my face. I practically looked like one of my cats. Is my body anticipating that I will need to crawl through narrow spaces soon?
Your faithful June has been Nair-ing for years. Ever since 1999, when I went to get my eyebrows waxed and the woman said, "You want me to do mustache, too?" and I said, you know, good marketing on your part, missy, but I don't have a mustache. And she said, "Ohhhh, no. You dark like man!"
I dark like man? Really? I gave her the 15 bucks and told her to wax on. When I returned to work, I emailed my entire department. "I want to thank you all for not telling me that I am Tom Selleck," I wrote. And everybody in my department assured me that I was really not dark like man, that that eyebrow waxer had scammed me.
But I've Naired or waxed anyway, just to be safe. And now here I was at work, needing one of those mustache coffee mugs. What gives?
And do you think I could wait until I got home tonight to take care of it? As soon as it hit noon, I went screaming to my car and headed to Walgreen's for tweezers. I also called my mother. I don't know how she understood me, what with my handlebar brushing against the phone like that.
"I could practically tie Nell to the railroad tracks," I told her. "Honey," said my mother, who was trying to have a nice lunch with my Uncle Jim, who also has a mustache, "you do not look like Snidely Whiplash.
"You know, I don't have a problem with facial hair," she finished.
I know I have told you before how my mother does this. "I never get cavities," she'll say, after you've had four root canals. "I graduated college with a 4.0," she''ll tell you, after you get a 1.0 in Natural Science.
And I really hope my family is reading this today, because I know they can back me up on this. Come on, folks, help your masculine niece/cousin. Back a brother up.
Of course I had to buy the $37475638505945949405948 Tweezerman tweezer, which let me assure you is worth the money. Seriously. Mortgage your home. Once you use a Tweezerman, you won't go back.
The other "of course" in this scenario is I had to tell this gruesome tale to the computer guy at work, who for some reason is a good audience for all my drama. When I returned to work, he popped his head in to check on my '70s-porn-star-looking self. "Everything better now?"
"Yeah," I told him. "I was just registering for the draft."
I mean, SERIOUSLY, when did I get so unfeminine? I swear I used to be kind of hot. Now I'm hot in a Salvidor Dali kind of a way.
Gettin' old. It's not for the clean-shaven.